


Hell from Above, Hell from Below, pt 2

by dramady, jeck



Series: Hell from Above, Hell from Below [2]
Category: Boondock Saints (Movies), Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles
Genre: Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-14
Updated: 2011-05-14
Packaged: 2017-10-19 09:53:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/199573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dramady/pseuds/dramady, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeck/pseuds/jeck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek goes back for more intel, but its the MacManus brothers who get more than they bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hell from Above, Hell from Below, pt 2

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Notes: Part [1](http://archiveofourown.org/works/199003)  
> Disclaimer: Not ours; please don't sue.

There was no way in hell that John was letting Derek go out alone again. They were going together. Derek had his glock and John was armed too, just as diligent as Derek as they walked the streets. Maybe even more diligent since John wasn't hungover. It was good for a few laughs at the very least. It was good to have something to laugh about.

Outside McGinty's, John stopped Derek, hand on his arm. ".. this place. This is where you thought you'd find intel on the chip maker. This place? Derek," he said, sounding older than he was. "This is a bar." Subtext: _what the hell is wrong with you_.

Derek stood erect like a soldier in front of his superior, though at rest, right in front of John. His expression was stoic and unreadable, the words (both verbal and the underlying meaning) washed cold over him before he spoke. "The best way to find someone who didn't want to be found is to get to know the area and the people there. Someone's bound to talk. Drunks more than anyone."

John sighed and looked away.

"Oy!" Connor elbowed Murph as they cane up behind Kyle and a friend. He raised his eyebrows at his brother. "I think Kyle here thinks he's Irish, brother," he said loud enough to be heard.

"Aye," Murphy agreed, looking over Kyle and the boy he was with. "If this is your back-up, that's not gonna work, lad. Even if he was Irish." He shook his head, still staring at the wiry boy in front of them.

Derek looked at the two with a squint. They looked different in the light. Better actually. Maybe being a bit sober, though hungover, helped. He cut a look John's way. "Well, looks could be deceiving." He lifted a brow at the twins.

John had gotten better at looking at people in the eye, not shrinking away. He stuffed his hands in his pocket and thrust his chin out.

"Not sure why someone needs back-up for business," Connor said, conversationally, looking at  
Kyle and his friend, but talking to Murphy. "Come here for the booze and conversation, then? You old enough to drink, boy?"

Boy. John all but rolled his eyes. "I don't need to drink," he muttered. While Derek nodded at Connor, before exchanging a look with John.

"You don't need ta drink?" Murphy had a quizzical look in his face. "We've been drinking since we were wee laddies - a lot younger than you. Come on in. I'm sure Doc won't mind." He clapped John's shoulder. Huh? They were deceptively solid shoulders. "What's your name, boy?"

Again with the 'boy.' John rolled his eyes. "John," he said, since that never changed. Last names changed, but not his first name. "... and you?"

"That's Murphy and I'm Connor. Good to make your acquaintance," Connor noted, hands in the pockets of his peacoat, the last of his cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth. He waited for Murphy to open the door, then for the two guys to go in before he followed, exchanging a glance with his brother. "Find what you were looking for, Kyle? What was it … robotics?" The corner of his mouth turned up in a suppressed laugh.

Derek cut a look toward John who, if he knew better, would know it was just slightly apologetic. To anyone else, though, it was just a look. "Found a computer repair place down the block," was his answer and left it at that.

"Doc!" Connor called, looping an arm around Murphy's shoulders. "Whiskey!"

John looked back at Derek. No drinking. Derek totally snored when he was drunk; it was ridiculously loud.

"F-f-f - "

Murphy leaned against the counter and was slapping his hand rhythmically over it. "Give us all a round 'eh?" He waved John over. "Come here and we'll put some hair on your chest." He laughed.

"It didn't work for you," Connor noted under his breath before laughing, arms over his chest for the blows he knew were coming.

This was Derek's contact? These guys? John was more and more sure that he'd lost it. He did, though, walk up to the bar and sit on a stool, scanning the room as he sat.

The bar was empty. Derek didn't stray far from John, though, standing right behind the stool John just commandeered. "Don't look at me like that," he told John under his breath. "Like I said, looks can be deceiving." He had a _feeling_ about these two -- that they knew far, far more than they let on.

"Asshole!" Murphy was still punching Connor, their feet scuffling on the floor before Murphy caught Connor in a headlock and then he roughly ruffled his hair. "It's not like you have hair on your chest, either, smart ass."

"Wore it all off!" Wheezing out a laugh, Connor shoved Murphy away. He gave his brother another push and nodded toward the bar, before grinning at Kyle and John. _Watch this_.

"Hey, Doc!," he called.

"What?!" The old man turned from where he was pouring drinks.

Connor braced himself on the bar and stared.

"Ah, f-f-f- you're not gonna get me!" The old man protested, but Connor just stared. "Ah, Christ!"

"Will someone come over and - !" The joke never got old.

"Fuck!" Doc exclaimed.

"- Me in the - "

"Ass!"

And once again, as always, Connor and Murphy collapsed in laughter.

John just looked at Derek again. Really? These guys? Really?

Derek gave John one stern look that said "trust me."

"Nicely done, brother. Nicely done." Murph gave Connor a pat on the back and then he's picking up the full shot glasses from the counter, handing them out. "There ya go. It's not Saint Patty's day but this might make Irishmen of you yet."

After taking his glass, Derek watched as John took his. He gave the boy a nod. It wasn't like he'd not given him any alcohol before although his look was still laced with some concern. John didn't have to, if he didn't want to.

Something told him he should, though. John held his shot and looked around at the expectant gazes.

"Slainte," Connor acknowledged, and threw his back, eyes never leaving John's face.

Maybe it was a test? Before he could think any more about it, John did what Connor did, throwing it back, feeling the burn all the way down his throat to his stomach. His eyes watered too.

"There's a lad," Connor praised.

Murphy took his shot in one gulp and then he reached over and clapped John's back. He turned back to Doc and asked for a round of beers -- just three -- still well-aware that John was underaged. What? They weren't out to corrupt minors! That wasn't their line of business.

After making sure John was okay, Derek then took his shot in one swig. He hissed as it slid down his still dry throat. Fuck, he was going to pay for this later, wasn't he? The glass clunked on the hard wooden counter and then he was reaching for the beer mug that was slid his way, taking a few gulps. "So," he started, "what do you guys do, anyway." They never got around to talking about that last night.

"well," Connor gusted. "We..." he looked at Murph. "We freelance." And he smirked.

That was a lie if John ever heard one. What were they hiding? It wasn't as if John wasn't used to living in a lie. He watched their faces.

Hungover, still, but sober, Derek knew, too, that what Connor said was a lie. He watched as Murphy looked at his brother, his eyes slitted to almost lines and Derek pressed on. "Freelance what?" It was entering into dangerous territory, he knew.

With things like this, Murphy usually looked to Connor to take the lead. He spoke in fluent Italian, "non mi piace che lui è troppe domande. Penso che sono sospettoso ... che cosa hai intenzione di dire?"

"Non ti preoccupare, fratello." They were armed; they could defend themselves. Connor watched the two other men. Time to lay cards on the table the way he saw it. They'd offered drinks, they'd offered company and conversation. "We'll tell you that, if you tell us your real names and what you're really looking for."

John's eyes slid to Derek. Cover was blown. What now? He hoped like hell it didn't involve killing three people. His stomach, still burning from the whiskey, turned over slowly. Before Derek could speak, though, he put his hand on his uncle's leg. "Robotics. Really, that's it." A pause. "And my name really is John."

The hand on his leg burned heat through the denim of Derek's jeans. It was a stark reminder of who John was, no matter what age: the leader of the resistance. Derek didn't speak.

Murphy was still suspicious of the pair that his eyes narrowed even more. "What's with the robotics? Do you really think we believe that crap?" His stance gave nothing away that he was ready to pounce at a moment's notice; he knew that Connor was, too.

Looking at them both, John took a deep breath. "It doesn't matter if you believe in it or not. The technology is coming and it's powerful and it needs to be controlled or … " he took a deep breath. "Really bad things could happen." End of the world type things.

What? Connor's brow furrowed. This was crazy talk, this was. "What, like computers and robots taking over the world? Like a movie?" He scoffed out right, rolling his eyes toward his brother. Murph was right; they were stark mad.

"You never know," John said, striving for light, but failing miserably.

"Yeah, like a movie -- Star Wars. Think of Darth Vader's forces only worse." Derek scowled.

"Star Wars?" Murphy scoffed. "Are you fucking kidding me?" He shook his head and grabbed his mug from the counter, taking a long swig of beer. "No such thing. Especially not in this neighborhood. We're all Irish here. No robots." Murphy rolled his eyes at Connor. Crazy.

"Irish robots." At that, Connor cackled. The very idea! "Beep, boop, whiskey!" He made himself laugh even harder. Star Wars was a fucking great _movie_. It wasn't real. "Oh, fuck _me_ ," he wheezed. His stomach ached. At least the guys were good for a laugh.

Except they weren't laughing. John looked miserable. This was such a bad idea. He shoved back from the bar and stood. Time to go. This wasn't a lead, clearly.

Before Derek even got to his feet, though, the door to the bar came crashing open and what John and Derek knew was a Terminator came striding in, pulling guns from holsters at his sides.

"GET THE FUCK DOWN!" Derek yelled at the top of his lungs, lunging forward and pulling out his gun. He started to shoot while taking sure steps toward the metal, his face was fierce while trying to keep John behind him.

The Triple-8 took the bullets, some even ricocheting from its metal body. Murphy saw this, blood there, too, and he was yelling for Connor. "What the fuck is that?! Connor! Holy shit! Connor!"

Connor was yelling simultaneously, the same things, just with Murphy's name in there, puling out his own guns and firing two handed. He saw John duck back behind the bar, pulling Doc down with him as bottles shattered, glass flying every which way.

Just like a fucking movie.

Murphy thought this, too, because suddenly it felt as if everything swung to slow- _fucking_ -motion. He pulled out his guns, jumped on the counter on his back, giving a quick glance to make sure Doc was alright while firing his rounds at the guy who wouldn't fucking die.

"Get Doc out of here!," he yelled at John just about at the same time that Derek called for John to leave.

All the firepower sent the machine's way slowed it down until Derek managed to tackle it to the ground. "JOHN! Turn this fucking metal off!"

Vaulting over the bar, John came running, pulling a Leatherman tool from his pocket. First, a slice in the synthetic skin, then pliers to get the cover off. From there, he could pull out the chip. The Terminator's red eyes went dim. John took a deep breath, blowing it out as he looked at Derek. Skynet knew they were here. Great.

"Murphy!" In the silence, Connor started to shout. "You all right? DOC! You all right?! What the fuck was that thing?! What the fuck did you do?!" Sliced the thing's head open and pull out a piece of metal?! Who the fuck did that kind of shit?! He headed for his brother, immediately, looking him over before jumping over the bar to check on Doc.

"Fuck!" Jumping off the counter, panting, Murphy was quick to check on Connor, too. He had his hands all over his brother, making sure everything was there and no blood. They both got Doc back on his feet and then he went over to get closer to whatever-the-fuck it was lying dead on the floor. "What the hell is that? There were slivers of silver showing up on parts of it's body -- the parts where bullets hit it. There was blood, too. Not a lot but enough to make Murphy wonder if that really was human. "The fuck?!"

"Like Darth Vader's forces. Only worse," John sighed, hands on his thighs as he looked down at the T-888.

~~

They'd gotten out of McGinty's and got Doc tucked away, then they hadn't let John and _Kyle_ get away, taking them to Rocco's old place, a bottle of whiskey on the table between them. They'd tugged the robot to a dumpster. It had weighed a fucking ton.

Connor lit two cigarettes and handed one over to his brother, eyes on the other two. "Robots."

"Not really robots," John said, shrugging. "Cyborgs. Machines that are hard to stop and will keep coming until their prgrammed objective is achieved."

Sticking close to John, Derek looked at the brothers, nodding. "The objective is usually to kill him," he pointed to John. "This is why I need to find them."

Murphy could only stare at John and Kyle. "Fuckin' robots!" He finally said. "What the hell are they doing in South Boston?" As if they didn't have enough to deal with with the mobs in their area, they had to figure in robots now, too? He took a deep toke of the cigarette Connor handed him. "Is that the only way you can kill them?" He asked John. Hell, his Rambo knife might finally, really come in handy.

"That's the only way. It's … complicated," John told them, tired beyond his years.

"We don't fucking care if it's complicated. We deserve to know." Of that, Connor was sure.

John looked at Derek and finally shrugged. If he thought they could be trusted, he trusted Derek. They could get the story. He couldn't help but look at Connor and Murphy's tattoos. Truth and Justice. They'd see wouldn't they? Suddenly, he wanted another shot of whiskey.

When Derek was done talking Connor had let his cigarette burn down to the filter and he was leaned back in his chair, looking as stunned as he felt. "Fuck me," he whispered.

"You guys know your way around shooting a gun," Derek started, standing solid in the middle of the room, like the soldier he was. "I probably wouldn't have taken him down that fast without you." He narrowed his eyes at them and then lifted a brow, face skeptical. "Freelance, huh?"

"Aye," Murphy said in acknowledgement. No use skirting around that issue now, was there?

With a look at his brother, Connor knew they were thinking the same thing. They always were.

 _Each day, we will spill their blood 'til it rains down from the skies!  
Do not kill, do not rape, do not steal.  
These are principles which every man of every faith can embrace.  
These are not polite suggestions!  
These are codes of behavior! And those of you that ignore them will pay the dearest cost!  
There are varying degrees of evil.  
We urge you lesser forms of filth not to push the bounds and cross over into true corruption, into our domain.  
For if you do, one day you will look behind you, and you will see we three.  
And on that day, you will reap it.  
And we will send you to whatever god you wish._

But this was nothing God had ever thought of. This was something else entirely and it sat poorly in Connor's gut.

"It's going to happen unless we can stop it. That's what we do - that's all we do," John said. And now they knew.

What followed was a more than lengthy conversation about robots and the future with Derek sharing only what he thought the brothers should know. He told them his real name, too and with a pang, the reason behind why he used the name Kyle. They may not have been twins like the MacManus brothers but he had no doubt that if Kyle were alive, they'd be fighting side by side, too.

Without even thinking about it, Connor crossed himself, seeing Murphy do the same thing. It was almost too much to comprehend and they were pretty smart boys, he thought. Good men.

When they were finally alone, it was in the back of the church, in a pew, hands laced, forehead against their knuckles. They were praying for … Connor didn't even know what to pray for here. He was lost.

Beside him knelt Murphy with his eyes closed, his lips moving as he mumbled prayer after prayer - almost everything their Ma had taught them until he'd exhausted himself of each one he knew off hand. He lifted his head and turned to Connor with a whisper. "What the hell are we going to do?"

Looking his brother in the eye, Connor shrugged. What was there to do? "This isn't God, this is man."

Bad men. That went without saying. That part was easy. The rest was hard. He had no idea, except one, his eyes locked on his brother's. They fight. Fight for the right side. The good side. Good vs. Evil was what it always was.

Derek stood by the window in their small and grimy hotel room with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes scanning the street below. "I knew there was something about them." He turned his head just enough to look at John. "I don't think the metal scared them … much." The corners of his lips quirked, trying not to smile. There really was no reason to smile.

There really wasn't. John didn't know what Derek was smiling about. Once again, they'd barely avoided being killed. He sat down on the bed and looked over at their backpacks. "We should move."

"Tomorrow," Derek said sternly. "Tonight you get some sleep. I'll keep watch." He pointed to the bed before turning back to look out the window. There would be no sleeping for him tonight; he knew John wouldn't be sleeping either. It was the thought that counted.

Across town, Connor lay on the bare mattress, cigarette smoldering in his hand as he stared up at the ceiling. He could feel Murphy's weight next to him; he didn't need to turn. Adrenaline had worn off, but he wasn't sleeping.

From beside him a hand grabbed the cigarette and Murphy put it to his lips. "If you're going ta keep me up, you might as well share." Another deep inhale from the cigarette and then Murph put the stick back between Connor's lips. "I can hear you fucking think." He scowled at his brother.

"Fuck you," Connor muttered without heat, finishing off the cigarette, scudding it out on the floor. This was different from anything they'd ever contemplated. There were bigger things in this world, he was reminded. It wasn't their lot to know the will of God. Or of good men. But evil men, the men behind this Skynet that they'd been told about. Perhaps that was their lot.

He turned to Murph in the murk, rolling onto his side, making the points of the cross on his brother's body with his finger, skin to skin.

Murphy closed his eyes, his back arching slightly off the lumpy mattress, his breath turning shallow. This was like a benediction, preparation to do the lord's work. Murph blinked his eyes open, staring at Connor, whispering, "destroy all that which is evil ..."

"So that which is good may flourish," Connor finished. The rest happened as it did, instinct and need working in tandem, a leg falling over Murphy's, kneeing between them, his brother's wrists pinned at his sides to an invisible cross, breath mingling.

Murphy struggled against being pinned but without any concentrated effort unlike those times when they did this frantically. His hips would rise then fall, his chest heaving until they pressed with Connor's, sweat mixing with heat. It felt good to touch, to _feel_.

Tonight, they moved like they were saying a prayer. Slow. Reverent.

Right. Good. _Hail Mary, full of grace... _. There would be answers when there was time. When it was right for them to know what they were to do beyond fighting, they would know.__

When sleep came, it was heavy and deep and without dreams, for all of them. Good men one and all.


End file.
